Page 9 of The Maid

"You should have told him I was sick." He wanted to get back to the argument with Addie. There was shit between them and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Jeff pulled out his phone and turned the screen. "You don't look sick enough for that excuse!" It was a photo from the local paper showing him on the dance floor sandwiched between the two blonds. The headline read, "Gun McCall leaves Pyramid with two prostitutes and runs out without paying ten-thousand-dollar tab. Owner of club pressing charges."

"That's bullshit. They weren't prostitutes. I don't need to pay for sex!"

"That's all you got from this?!" Jeff said. "You want your team and parents to take you seriously? You want their respect? Then stop screwing around!" That was a low-blow from his friend. Gun had confided in him about his parents and never once had Jeff used it against him. He looked away from a fuming Jeff to see a disappointed Addie. "I didn't run out on my tab, Addie, and they weren't prostitutes," he said to her, a little calmer.

"Addie?” Jeff asked, looking at both of them.

“You remember my childhood friend, the one I’ve mentioned a few times? Addie? Adalyn is Addie.”

“Jesus.” Jeff ran his fingers through his hair. “I remember you talking about her more than once.”

But Addie quickly added, “But that was in the past. Long time ago.”

“Well, keep it in the past. You need to work together.”

“No worries at all, Jeff,” Addie added quickly.

“Did Adalyn explain why she's here?" Jeff asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Now, get your shit together, Gun. Show Wayne that you’re the player he contracted, not a liability and not a hassle. You’re not a twenty-year-old kid anymore, McCall. There’s a bench full of young players with stamina and determination that are waiting for you to fuck up and get benched so that they can play. And you know as well as I do, one of those kids can end up taking your place permanently if they’re good enough. Lay low. Work with Addie and stop making my job so difficult." He turned to Addie. "Come on. I'll drive you back to the office."

"Bye Gunther. I'll call you tomorrow and we'll get started."

"Yeah, okay." He said and turned to look at the ocean. At what point in this conversation had he agreed to working with Adalyn Finney? And how had the last twelve hours spiraled so out of control?

Damn it. He wasn't sure what was worse, the lies from the tabloid or the look of disappointment in Addie's face as she walked out.

One thing he was sure of, he needed to win Addie back. It wasn't an instant love attraction, exactly. It was ten years of pent up emotions that he hadn't even realized he had until they had locked eyes again. Her hurt, was his hurt and vowed to be a better man because she deserved a better man.

Mission: Win Addie Back.

4

Addie had been blindsided when Gun asked her out three days ago when she left his apartment. She had had a speech and a very-organized game plan prepared for him, but she never had the chance to go over it. Instead, they'd engaged in a screaming match on his balcony. She needed to rein things in and get back in control of the situation. She knew he was hot-tempered, always had been, but he seemed to be even more short-fused now. So, she was giving him some time to cool off. It was Friday and not an ideal day to go over her plan, anyway.

She decided to try another route and sent him a cordial email.

Gunther,

I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot earlier this week. I am here to help. Not to make things harder for you. I'd like to set up an appointment with you on Tuesday. We could have lunch and discuss my plans. If that is acceptable for you, there is a Panera around the corner from my office. Would noon work for you? My treat—consider it a peace offering.

Sincerely,

Adalyn

Perfect, she thought. Friendly, yet professional. She hit send and went back to trying to reach potential new clients. Clients being a loose word because Wayne basically signed the majority of players up for the program after they'd screwed up—and that was just at the Miami Tornadoes. Other franchises had begun hearing about the program and enrolling their players. The players were then going to be assigned to either Addie or Sonia, Addie's counterpart. Ultimately the goal was to get the players to sign up on their own because they wanted help, not because they felt obligated.

A few minutes later she heard the ding of an incoming email.

Dinner. Monday. I pay.

What the hell?

Was he a Neanderthal? If it wasn't for his email address, she wouldn't even know it was Gun who'd sent it.

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